


Delicate like Shattered Glass

by LeviSqueaks



Series: Dominant Stiles [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Peter Hale, Bingo square fill, Canon Divergent, Come Marking, Dirty Talk, Dom Stiles, First Time, Frottage, Hickies, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Masturbation, Praise Kink, Protective Derek Hale, Sassy Peter Hale, Sassy Stiles Stilinski, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Pain-Relief Magic, While Injured, no beta we die like men, season two finale, touch starvation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29736318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeviSqueaks/pseuds/LeviSqueaks
Summary: It was the little things that alerted Stiles to the situation at hand. He liked to think he was a keenly observant person. Being a sheriff’s kid with a neurodivergent brain and anxiety meant that he picked up on a LOT of things that others might dismiss. It was how he was so good with figuring out blackmail material on his peers and how he kept out of the majority of the trouble he stumbled in.So when Peter’s breath hitched every time that he touched Stiles, well… it was obvious.--Or, Stiles deals with the aftermath of the basement, losing his crush to Lizard McDouche, and is confronted with Peter Hale's continued existence. This leads to experimentation, some really nice pain-drain, and a mouth that just can't stop.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Dominant Stiles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185800
Comments: 90
Kudos: 270
Collections: Steter collection, Teen Wolf Bingo





	1. Praise Kink

Delicate, Like Shattered Glass

By LeviSqueaks

It was the little things that alerted Stiles to the situation at hand. He liked to think he was a keenly observant person. Being a sheriff’s kid with a neurodivergent brain and anxiety meant that he picked up on a LOT of things that others might dismiss. It was how he was so good with figuring out blackmail material on his peers and how he kept out of the majority of the trouble he stumbled in. 

So when Peter’s breath hitched every time that he touched Stiles, well… it was obvious. 

The first few times, it was kind of drowned out with the _holyshitadrenalinedon’tdiefuckfuckfuck_ that was Stiles’ life the past month. Keeping Scotty’s stupid werewolf ass alive was _exhausting_ okay? 

But when Stiles had found himself in the supremely uncomfortable fuckery of the whole garage thing? It wasn’t the terror of being offered the bite that took Stiles’ attention, it was the way that Peter’s eyes had dilated and how the firm grip tightened after he started trembling. It was definitely the way that Peter had brushed his cheek against Stiles’ palm for that millisecond before he let go. 

It was the way Peter's breath hitched after he inhaled Stiles' scent.

But they were so caught up in it all, and then Stiles had set Peter on fire and Derek, the absolute _idiot_ sliced into Peter’s throat and then declared himself the Alpha and it… well it all fell apart and Stiles never got to explore the reason behind it. 

Then Murder Grandpa and the goons arrived. Honestly, he had suggested it as a band name. He wasn’t sure why Gerard hadn’t liked the idea. It was _catchy!_ Maybe it was because he suggested it with a mouth full of blood that he ended up spitting across the basement floor in between being tazed and suckerpunched in the gut. The overwhelming agony throbbing through his body had probably affected the delivery. 

It hadn’t mattered though, not the broken rib, or the potential internal bleeding. Not even the missing fingernails and the bruises on his face that he was definitely not going to be able to explain to his dad mattered. It had kept Gerard away from Boyd and Erica. And Pack was the most important thing, even if Sourwolf Alpha Douche didn’t think he was pack… and Erica had hit him with his own damn car part. 

“Get the hell out of here, go find Derek. Seriously if you want to leave after it’s whatever but let’s just… wait until we deal with Murder Grandpa, okay?” He wheezed and man, breathing _sucked._ Was this what Scott had dealt with? Was this like Asthma? He vaguely remembered from the research bender he had done four years ago that it was more trouble exhaling than inhaling but either way. Sucked. 

Honestly, the in-between time from getting Erica and Boyd out of the torture basement to when he crashed his car into the wall to try and stop Lizard Jackson (and god, it was such a good look for the asshole, truly) was a hazy blur. If his dad had sat him down in the interrogation room he definitely had never played in before, and asked him the details of going home, meeting up with Lydia, the drive, the crash... he wouldn’t have been able to tell him. 

Knowing Scott had worked with Gerard? Had forced Derek into biting Gerard was horrifying and Stiles couldn’t help but feel impotent rage at the fact that he couldn’t get there in time to stop it. He wanted to save his Alpha… wasn’t that fun? Especially when Derek definitely did not consider Stiles, pack. But what was one, lone human against a bunch of werewolves, a psychopathic geriatric, and the lizard king? 

Well fine, the lizard King he had managed at least 10 damage to, thanks to his jeep. Watching Lydia heal Jackson with the power of true love or some bullshit like that had been really hard. It was tough recognizing he had never had a chance. She wasn’t perfect, despite his earlier protestations, but he did long for someone to go to that level of risk for. He tried to ignore the pain that radiated with each movement. His dad didn’t know about the rest of the bruising, just his tender cheek and the split lip. If he knew that Stiles was developing enough black and blue bruises to match a dalmation he would never hear the end of it. 

He watched and calculated and tried his best to stay awake and alive in the mayhem following Scott’s betrayal. And why? For Allison? The girl who had shot Erica and Boyd full of arrows and stabbed Issac and was overall a horrible person? He wasn’t looking forward to the talk they would need to have over his plethora of terrible life choices. 

But what really put the candles on the absolute shit-tastic birthday cake of the day was catching a glimpse of Peter, well and whole, unscarred and dangerous, lurking in the shadows. 

Peter God-Damned, Supervillan Hale. 

That was totally not a fear boner. Nope. It was not. Holy shit how was he supposed to process the trauma of setting a burn victim on fire if they didn’t _stay dead?!_

Unbelievable. He waited until everyone had cleared out, resting wearily against the hood of his jeep and trying to process the past 5 or so hours of his life. Could you age at an accelerated rate? Cause he was pretty sure he was now 30 and developing wrinkles since his lacrosse game. Holy shit he won his lacrosse game. Jackson was gonna flip the fuck out and Coach was going to be hell to deal with come Monday. 

Stiles let his head fall back against the window of his jeep with a concerningly loud thwack, pain blooming outward from the point of impact. He grit his teeth and did it again, fists clenching as he tried to keep himself from crying. Holy shit he wasn’t going to even _see_ 30 at the rate that his life was going. What the hell happened to High School being the best years of your life? He lifted his head and let it fall again, the noise of impact echoing around him. 

Fuck. 

He watched the girl he’d been crushing on for 8 years kiss fucking lizard boy to declare her one true love and of _course_ it was for the asshole who had made his life hell since kindergarten. And he had _helped her do it._ He lifted his head, shoulders tense and threw it back, the pain being the only thing that was grounding him when a warmth reached his side and a hand caught his head before it could meet the glass again. 

Long fingers caressed his hair, cradled his head carefully and that familiar hitch in breathing roused Stiles into opening his eyes to stare into the blue of Peter’s. They stood there, quiet and waiting, expectation filling the space between them as they examined each other. 

Stiles couldn’t help but feel that Peter looked worlds better without the scars. He had been handsome before, in a totally psycho, murderous kind of way but now? The beard was new and it only added to the supervillian vibes and god, that should be illegal. He was going to get his dad to outlaw dangerous vibe facial hair… right? That was a thing. Had to be. 

“Stiles.” 

_God shit right._ “So… you’re looking good for a dead dude, Zombiewolf,” he managed as he reached up to pat Peter’s chest. The man’s breathing hitched again, but unlike Derek, he only swayed a little closer and curled his lips into a smirk. 

God that smirk should _also_ be illegal. The whole man was illegal. A walking crime. 

“Thank you Stiles, I have found my return to be invigorating and rather uneventful. No more… impulses.” 

“Well thank god for that, Zombiewolf, the last thing we need is for you to be uh… impulsive.” Wow, Stiles was pretty sure he had a concussion and it was making him stupid. He shifted back when Peter stepped forward and it made him hiss as his ribs spasmed. 

Peter leaned forward, nostrils flaring and he frowned, “however did you injure yourself?” he demanded as he stared into Stiles’ eyes. They were essentially the same height, but Peter just felt… bigger. He was massive and intimidating and totally hot. 

Crap, unsexy thoughts, Stilinski. It did not do to give Peter ammunition. “Uh, you know… murder Grandpa and some of his goons decided to go after my...the pack. I just laid out a bit of a distraction. No biggie.” 

“With your face?” Peter asked, unimpressed. Stiles flailed at him in response, getting the man to lean back, but not release Stiles’ head. It was really warm and kind of soothing and Stiles was not going there… he wasn’t… there was no way that he was going to entertain that line of thought. He didn’t need a panic attack. 

“Come along Stiles, I’ll have someone tow your jeep, you’re not driving anywhere with that damage,” Peter demanded as he led Stiles to his own sporty douchemobile. 

“Uh…” Stiles wasn’t even sure where to begin with all of that, but he still found himself stumbling forward as Peter used the hand behind his head to lead him forward toward the car. 

“You’re injured… you need to get looked at.”

It just kind of felt good to have someone take care of him. Maybe that was why he didn’t protest or fight the hand that had drifted down to his wrist to tug him along. Or being guided into one of the warm leather seats. Maybe it’s why he leaned his head back and let Peter drive him without his heart hammering in his stomach or asking where they were going. If this was how he died, so be it. He had won the lacrosse game, he had survived torture, he had even been an instrument in true love curing a lizard monster and turning him into a real ~~douche~~ boy. So what if he was a virgin? You couldn’t win them all, and dying in a body cradling leather seat with butt warmers was a really nice way to go. 

Honestly, arriving at Peter’s apartment was almost a let down. 

“Well I’m terribly sorry to hear that, Darling. And here I thought you would have been exceptionally excited to find out where I live,” came the dry response. 

Fuck. Had Stiles said that out loud? “I am! Totally am dude, like very excited. Are you going to murder me and hide me in your closet? Is Eminem your favorite rapper? I mean that would make sense and all you know… cause he’s white and you don’t seem like a busta rhymes fan… no offense.” 

Peter stared at him for a moment before his lips twitched, “I prefer Tupac or the Wu Tang Clan,” he returned evenly. 

Stiles stared at him, trying to imagine Peter listening to California Love before wolfing out and ripping someone’s throat out, “I… you’re fucking with me, aren’t you?” 

Peter snorted and opened his door, climbing out without responding leaving Stiles to scramble out after him, moving carefully to try and keep himself from falling to pieces. Honestly, the lack of adrenaline meant his entire body was trembling and screaming in pain. He just wanted to lie down and wait for it to stop hurting enough to take a full breath. He was pretty sure he had at least one cracked rib. 

It turned out that Peter’s place had a doorman and a special key to get to his floor because _of course_ he had the penthouse. Nothing about the man was surprising. And by that it meant that Stiles was just expecting Peter to live up to every supervillain stereotype and it just worked for him and also made everything predictable. He was pretty sure Peter would maim him a little for suggesting it though so he kept his mouth shut. Well, about that at least. 

“So uh, what are we doing here, Zombiewolf? I mean… last I saw you we weren’t exactly uh getting along like a… jesus fuck. Um… right like so?” He was really out of it. It was the only excuse he could come up with. _Getting along like a house on fire? Really Stilinski? Jesus Christ man pull it together! You aren’t Scott! Suave man! Be suave?_

“Stiles!” 

Stiles snapped back to the present and flushed at Peter’s amused expression, “Come on sweetheart, let’s look you over,” he suggested as he handed Stiles the cup of water he had apparently been holding out to him. 

“I think I have a concussion?” Stiles offered as he accepted the water and took a sip before gulping it gratefully. God he hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until he had tasted the water. That long-fingered hand wrapped around his wrist again and the little pause and sigh just seemed second nature at this point. Stiles wondered if it was so Peter could feel his pulse or to catch his scent. He had stumbled across a lot of sketchy shit when he had looked up werewolves and while he was definitely curious to see what, if anything, held truth. That omega shit and the knotting just seemed way too fucked up to have any validity. But the whole scenting theory did seem to hold some water with how sniffy Derek was sometimes. Was it because that was supposedly some sort of scent point? 

Peter laughed softly and Stiles realized belatedly that he had been rambling aloud again and flushed deeply in mortification as Peter guided him to sit on a very nice, very comfortable, very WHITE leather couch. 

“Are you asking me if I have a knot, Stiles? I would think you would need to buy me dinner first before you gained that much knowledge of my working parts, Darling.” 

Fuck. 

“Yeah uh… raincheck on dinner, I don’t think I could eat,” Stiles admitted as Peter settled across from him and then jerked away when Peter reached to lift up his shirt. “Woah! Bad touch! Dude hands off the… oh my _GAWD_ …” he moaned as black veins crept up Peter’s hand from where he was touching Stiles’ stomach. “Jesus christ that feels… are you draining my pain? Holy shit dude you have literal magic hands.” 

Peter’s eyes were zeroed into Stiles’ skin but the lack of pain that felt like the GOOD drugs Stiles had been prescribed when he broke his arm when he was 12 seeped in and took all of his self-consciousness with it. “God you’re fucking great… I’ll give you like… 3 years to stop that.” 

Peter shifted his touch over a dark black bruise over Stiles’ rib and the warm heat of his hand coupled with the magic pain suck was amazing. Stiles sighed and melted back against the couch as Peter’s own breathing became a little ragged. “Dude, seriously. How did you learn to do that?” Stiles managed as Peter withdrew his hand. Stiles felt completely blissed out and he could definitely get used to the feeling. He felt floaty and soft and free and he reached out to run a hand down Peter’s arm. 

Peter stiffened and his jaw did that same twitchy sharp thing that meant he was grinding his teeth. It was so similar to Derek’s usual scowl that Stiles grinned at him dopily. Derek and Peter didn’t look the same, they weren’t obviously related beyond both being gorgeous, but they did have the same mannerisms sometimes and when they both did the same thing it was hysterical. 

But still… Stiles had wanted to experiment before the molotov… incident. Now he could. He let his hand rub back down Peter’s arm and he watched as the man sat taut and still beside him. Peter didn’t pull away, but he was so tense he looked like he would crack under the pressure. “It’s entirely unfair,” Stiles hummed as he teased his fingers up again. Peter’s forearm was strong and corded with muscle and covered in soft hair. “You’re like… model pretty.” 

Peter stared at him, eyes wide and curious but he was still tense. Stiles didn’t hurt anymore, though he knew once some of the mojo wore off he would be aching horribly. He wondered if Peter tensed and gasped and trembled every time he was touched and what it would take for him to relax. He wrapped a hand around Peter’s wrist, letting his fingers settle at the pulse point and it was like someone had cut strings holding Peter up as he slumped and his eyes flashed a brilliant blue, a shudder running down his frame. 

Stiles remembered the first time, when Peter had gasped after grabbing Stiles’ wrist and bringing it up to his mouth, offering the bite. He remembered the terror of that night, the anger and frustration he had felt, the arousal as Peter’s lips brushed across the skin of his wrist before he yanked it away. He traced his own thumb across Peter’s wrist and watched as he heaved a sigh, gasping air in and fighting that desire to sprawl bonelessly. Stiles lifted Peter’s hand to his mouth and kissed that same place where he might have received a bite and watched as electric blue eyes watched the ascension. 

Peter released a wordless, punched out noise and it made Stiles’ cock twitch in his pants. He was young, and Peter was hot like… lava. Not burning. God Stiles was never going to get over the guilt of what he had done. Especially with what he had managed to piece together. All he could do was try and make up for it and build the Hale pack back up with duct tape and school glue if he had to. “You’re so good for me, taking care of me. Thank you Peter,” he said softly. 

Peter let out another little wounded noise and Stiles wasn’t really sure what he was doing here but he pressed another soft kiss to Peter’s wrist and let his head list a little to press his cheek to it, rubbing against the man’s soft skin slowly so his scent spread over Stiles’ face. 

Peter pushed forward and Stiles hissed a little as the readjustment of their position made him lean back and it pulled on one of the knife slash wounds on his side. Peter immediately dragged his other hand up from where it had been resting on the couch to Stiles’ neck and settled there, hot and heavy like a collar and Stiles could barely see the black veins, his pain receding quickly. 

He sighed happily and turned to kiss Peter’s other wrist, holding the first tight in his grip as he slipped back to sprawl on the pillows, “God so good. I know you’re like me, you use your sarcasm and your smarts and your good looks… to get what you need but you’re not evil. You’re so good, Peter.” 

He wasn’t even sure what he was muttering at this point. But it seemed important to say to the other man in his muddled state and he tugged Peter close, reaching with his other hand down to grip Peter’s henley and dragged the other man on top of him. His leg was still curled up so it wasn’t the most comfortable but the man’s weight and superhuman heat felt fantastic. He met Peter’s eyes, evaluating the other man who looked completely entranced. 

It was like Stiles was werewolf nip or something the way he looked. He kept his eyes locked on Peter’s and then arched his head, bending across the fingers still resting there and offered his neck to the older man. This was a calculated move that wasn’t without risk. He knew Peter could kill him in an instant. But he wasn’t afraid. Instead, he waited to see if the other would take what was being offered willingly to him. 

Peter had gone predator still and taut again as he broke his stare and stared at the long pale column exposed to him before he moaned and moved forward to bury his face there, huffing happily, scenting Stiles. 

“Yes. Fuck yes, are you going to make me smell like yours, pretty boy?” Stiles asked. They were both way too out of it to be aware of what he was saying and Stiles vaguely realized he was gonna be embarrassed as fuck by this later but it didn’t matter right now. Now, the only thing that mattered was making Peter give him more of those wrecked sounds. He ran a hand down Peter’s back and relished the way the older man rocked forward against his thigh at the possessive touch. 

He would have laughed in someone’s face if they had told him that he was going to be lying on a couch with Peter Hale rocking into his thigh, covered in bruises, and giving his very best attempts at dirty talk. But he felt drunk on the pain drain and heat and presence of the other man. He felt lips at his skin and he rocked up in response to it even as he felt wet kisses and a tongue laving at his skin. “Make me feel so good, you’re such a good provider for me and taking what I give you so nicely. Do you like it when I touch you, baby?” 

Peter grunted in response and Stiles dragged the man’s shirt up and scratched blunt nails up Peter’s back. Peter’s body sagged into his and he let out another wordless cry, shuddering against Stiles as Stiles let his other hand fall to grab Peter’s hip and holding it firm. “You just want pack and safety and to feel right again. I’m gonna give you what you need, Peter. I’ve got you baby. Just take what you need. You’re taking care of me and I’m gonna take care of you,” he promised. 

Peter was rocking firmly, reaching down to drag Stiles' leg straight so he could fit between Stiles’ thighs and it brought their cocks together as he bit lightly at Stiles’ throat. Stiles was pretty sure he was going to be walking away with a giant hickey but it would be right at home with the other bruises on his body. He bucked up, rutting against the answering bulge in the werewolf’s pants and he ran his hands back up Peter’s back, relishing the hitched breath that fanned over his damp neck and the whimper of pleasure it dragged from Peter’s throat. 

“Come on baby, wanna feel you. You’re doing so good for me, feel so good for me. Gonna take us both apart, okay baby? You gonna give me what I want, Peter? I want to hear you, honey.” 

"Stiles…" Peter whined and Stiles arched his neck for Peter, bending awkwardly to kiss at his shoulder, "sit up for me. Take off your shirt," he demanded. His head was swimming and there was that spastic excited part of him that was freaking out about his first heavy make out session. Jesus he never did anything halfway, did he? 

He was definitely going to have to circle back with his dad. He was hella gay. The most gay. _Holy_ _shit Peter looked nice without a shirt._

His focus snapped back to appreciate Peter's body as the man stripped his Henley before tugging Stiles up, veins running black to counter the flair of pain from moving and dragged off flannel and graphic tshirt before crowding right back up against Stiles for a kiss. 

Stiles had imagined kissing. The lips and the tongue and it had been… nothing at all compared to the real deal. Peter's lips moved against his warm and demanding, his tongue teased into Stiles' mouth and it took a second before Stiles realized he could taste the hint of cinnamon against it. Peter pushed forward, a broken whimper echoing in Stiles' mouth as their chests slid against each other. 

Stiles was sure he had never felt anything as awesome as making out half naked. 

Peter cradled his back and gently lowered him back to the couch pillows, rocking back against Stiles and eagerly breaking the kiss to return to Stiles' neck. His tongue was hot and wet before he latched back onto the same hickey he had been making before and the sucking sensation against the bruise went straight to Stiles' dick in a sweet pain/ache/pleasure that made Stiles throw his head back. "Fuck. God you feel so damn good against me like this. You marking me up? Making sure everyone knows who I belong to?" 

The answering growl sent a shiver down Stiles' spine and his hips rocked up in response while his dick twitched. He definitely had a regular boner now, but that little spike of adrenaline just made all of this better. 

"Yeah you like that, don't you baby? Gonna put your scent all over me and mark me up and claim me as yours? Does it get you hot knowing that they're all gonna smell you on me? That my scent is going to be all over you?" 

Peter gave another broken sound as Stiles curled his arms tight around him and stroked his back. Stiles felt a little tease of teeth and he moaned cause fuck there were still some moments where he wished he had taken the bite. Not enough of them to ask. And he wouldn't want the bite from Derek. But Peter had said he would be a magnificent wolf and damn if Stiles didn't wonder sometimes. 

But his mouth, as always, was getting ahead of himself and he tugged away to deliberately bury his own face in Peter's neck and lick the salty skin there and bite down firmly, but not enough to break the skin. 

Peter arched and swore as he thrust hard against Stiles. It made him feel powerful, to take Peter apart like this. "gonna cum on me, Baby? Take your cock out and mark me up with your cum? Make me smell like you and sex so no shower will get the smell off? Stake your claim?" 

The effect was instantaneous. Peter wolfed out, eyes glowing, fangs and beta shift dropping quickly over his face as he reached down to grab his own jeans and rip them open. Stiles watched, panting and hard as a fucking rock as Peter grabbed his cock and stroked himself, only a couple times before cum was landing on Stiles' stomach and chest, spilling fast as Peter groaned. 

Okay… Stiles had not expected that to get Peter off… It had been one of those alpha/omega things he had read. But he was not mad at the result. Sticky. But not mad. Time to go for gold. "God yes Peter. So fucking good for me," he whined and reached down to trail fingers through Peter's cum where it had landed on his chest and met glowing blue eyes as he sucked it off his finger. Okay a little funky. But he could definitely get used to it. Holy shit he had just had sex. 

Peter growled as he watched Stiles try his cum and it made Stiles buck his hips again because Jesus fucking christ he was going to die of blue balls if he didn't get off right now. 

He was still hazy enough to push away his embarrassment as he struggled to get his own pants open and shoved down enough to grab his cock. This was gonna take nanoseconds but he didn't care. Peter was watching him, a red flush still staining his chest and throat and stiles scraped some of Peter's spunk off his stomach to start stroking his own cock, grinning as Peter cursed and gripped Stiles' thighs. 

"gonna make myself smell like yours, huh? But you gotta smell like mine too, Baby. Gotta leave my mark somehow," he challenged as he stroked his cock until he was arching up and groaning as he added his own mess to his stomach.

He stared up at Peter before reaching forward to grab the older man and drag him down for another demanding kiss, getting him covered too and letting their combined mess rub into their stomachs. 

Peter was rumbling as they kissed, almost a purr and Stiles shakily stroked the man's back as he sagged into the couch, panting. They were going to have to talk about this. And maybe repeat it. Like forever. But for now, Stiles drifted off, content in knowing that Peter… Pack… would keep him safe. 


	2. Warm and Fluffy Feelings

Stiles hadn’t ever expected to have his first time past first base to be with a 28 year old, smoking hot, male, werewolf. All of those qualifiers just heaped on top of each other really seemed like it was pushing the line a bit. But lying on the couch, drowsy and enveloped in Peter’s arms felt like magic. He snuggled closer, running his cheek and nose across Peter’s shoulder as he stroked the other man’s back. 

It was nice to just lay there and enjoy the simple pleasure of stroking his fingers lazily up and down the muscled expanse, teasing against the vertebrae of Peter’s spine and down to the swell of his hip before he was stopped by Peter’s pants. The cum was cooled between them and neither of them were hard but he was too comfortable to protest, even if he was sure they would be stuck together once they actually roused. 

And Peter? Peter was boneless where he lay on top of Stiles, patiently draining his pain and rumbling quietly with each stroke of fingers down his back. Stiles valued his life to much to actually say that he was purring out loud, but Peter did resemble a giant, lazy cat the way he was sprawled out and nuzzling into Stiles’ neck. “I need to get home before my dad finds me gone and freaks,” he finally managed. He was not looking forward to it. Leaving Peter meant leaving behind the werewolf pain-be-gone magic and the possibility of round two. But he was so tired that he wasn’t sure it mattered. “Could you take me home, baby?”

Oh. 

Okay it wasn’t really weird? It was a little weird. The Baby pet name was definitely hotter when they were in the middle of making out. But still, Peter rumbled louder and nipped at his neck before lavving over the sting with his tongue. Stiles knew that when Peter pulled away they were going to be confronted with the very gross reality that was his scent kink thing but… Stiles couldn’t bring himself to regret it. 

There were a million thoughts running through his head but he didn’t allow himself the chance to latch on to one just yet. Peter stood and tucked himself away in his pants, his stomach slick and shining with their combined cum and he pet a hand over Stiles’ head as he made his way to the bathroom. 

The lack of pain drain was almost immediately evident in the way that Stiles’ body began to throb in time with his thundering heartbeat. Peter reemerged just as a sharp stitch started to develop in Stiles’ side and he hissed as Peter quickly moved to drain his pain a bit, easing away the ache and the burning of abused muscles before he used the damp cloth he had brought out to clean up Stiles’ stomach. Stiles tucked himself away into his spiderman boxers, which were also way more embarrassing when they weren’t in the middle of 2nd base, and forced himself to sit up. Peter was so close and Stiles yawned before leaning forward to press a kiss into Peter’s stomach as he stood up. 

He stared into Peter’s eyes and then leaned forward to kiss him again, this time on the lips and lightning quick. He wasn’t sure why it was so important to kiss Peter, he was sure he could get the man to agree to do this again, but it was like he needed to take what he could get before the opportunity was gone. 

Peter’s blue eyes were searching, maybe even a little guarded but he leaned forward to nuzzle his cheek against Stiles’ before he bent to retrieve Stiles’ shirt to drag over his head. “Let’s get you home, we wouldn’t want the good Sheriff to worry himself over your disappearance.” 

Stiles wasn’t too proud to admit he passed out in the toasty seat of Peter’s car, having covered the man’s hand when it rested on his thigh possessively. 

Peter gently squeezed his thigh, rousing Stiles when they arrived and Stiles felt a huge sense of relief when he saw that the cruiser was missing from the driveway. He turned to look at Peter and he was the one who gasped when the older man leaned forward, cupping his cheeks and kissing him gently. He would self-reflect on the events of the evening and how and why he felt so safe with Peter when he wasn’t doped up on werewolf magic and blissed out after an orgasm. But for right now, all he wanted was to lose himself into the possessive kiss. He reached over, ignoring the sharp pain in his side and held on, stroking his hands across Peter’s arms and opening his mouth to the other man’s tongue when it teased against his lips. 

He pushed forward, chasing after Peter as he pulled away from the kiss before frowning and turning to kiss the man’s wrists again, licking one experimentally and grinning when Peter ~~purred~~ rumbled again. “Goodnight, Stiles,” the man said quietly and Stiles finally let go, rubbing his hand down Peter’s forearms as he leaned back in his seat, “Do you need assistance to get inside, Darling?” 

Ooh, Darling… maybe pet names were still on the table after all. “Nah Baby, I’m good. Thank you for driving me home. I’ll talk… wait let me have your phone.” He demanded as he tugged his own out, ignoring the cracked screen to open a new contact. He looked back up to find Peter eyeing him in amusement, though there was a bit of a guarded look in his eyes, “What?” 

Peter had an odd look on his face before it went smooth again, one that Stiles couldn’t exactly place. He held out his own phone wordlessly, and Stiles quickly went to add his own number before his eyes narrowed when he realized he was already listed as a contact. He looked up to find Peter smirking at him and rolled his eyes before texting himself and handing it back. “I’ll talk to you later, Baby,” he teased, a little challengingly and he grinned when he saw something flash in Peter’s eyes. 

Yeah they were definitely going to have to talk about the pet names, but Peter didn’t seem mad about it. 

He forced himself inside and straight to the medicine cabinet to down some good old-fashioned human pain relief aids. Ahhh, Advil. It totally sucked in comparison but he was gonna just have to push through and bear it. 

He collapsed into bed and groaned, trying to push down the thought of how nice it had been to have Peter lying on top of him. He was hungry, but too tired and sore to go down and find food so he just shoved his pants off and wiggled out of his shirt before burrowing under the blankets and relaxing into the sheets. 

Tomorrow. 

Tomorrow he would eat, and he would check on Erica and Boyd and Derek, and he would figure out the whole mess with Peter, and maybe even get up the courage to talk with his dad. 

~*~*~

“STILES?!” 

Stiles jerked awake and flailed away from the edge of the bed, squinting into the morning light before groaning as he heard his dad make his way upstairs. “Yeah?” he croaked out as he tried to make sense of why his dad was freaked out at ass o’clock in the morning. 

His door swung open and John sagged against the frame as he took in Stiles’ sleep-rumpled form. “Jesus kid… where the hell is your jeep?” 

Stiles stared blankly as his brain tried to figure out how to supply the answer… Jeep… fuck Lizard King and the night with Peter! He sat up and then bit out a curse as he gripped his stomach, ribs protesting his sudden movements and all at once the agony of the night before and everything that had followed after his #3 torture special. “Ah… crap… Roscoe’s in the shop.” 

John winced “what the hell is the je…” he tapered off and squared his shoulders as he approached and glared down at Stiles, “Show me,” he demanded firmly. “And how about we stop with the lying and you clue me in, huh?” 

Stiles felt that familiar panic swell in his throat as he flailed his hands at his dad, trying to evade his reaching hands while trapped under the covers wrapped around his legs. His dad, with years of experience at his disposal wrestled Stiles’ shirt up and hissed at the cuts and bruises covering Stiles’ torso. “Jesus Christ, kiddo what the fuck is going on with you?” 

Stiles laughed, maybe a little too hysterically as he considered just how loaded that question was. “Uh… cliff notes version?” 

John glared at him, all humor gone from his face and Stiles groaned when he realized he truly wasn’t going to be able to get out of this. “Fuck… Okay so you know… a few weeks ago? When you found me outside of Jungle?” 

His dad leveled an unamused glare at him, “Stiles… kid stop lying okay? I just… I need to know what is going on. How else am I going to be able to take care of you if you’re keeping me in the dark?” 

“I’m… I’m not lying.” Stiles managed and he met his dad’s eyes. “I’m trying to tell you, okay? Everything just… you remember that night?” His dad nodded wordlessly, but his eyes were guarded, “well you were asking me what was going on but I couldn’t… I couldn’t tell you the truth at that moment, or like… what you wanted to know truth anyway but… I wasn’t lying when I was trying to tell you I’m gay. I was just using a different truth to cover up the truth you were trying to get out of me?” 

There was a long silent pause before John’s face sagged and he eyed Stiles’ face. He searched there, for some tell or twitch or whatever it was he used to discern the truth from the bullshit before he nodded, “gay gay… or just bi or whatever the kids are calling it?” 

Stiles waved his hand, his fingers instinctively popping knuckles to get out the nervous energy. He really didn’t know how the hell he was going to admit to all of the supernatural fuckery that was also going on. But this part was easier. “Uh… survey says like 75% maybe?” he waved his hands back and forth, “I uh definitely like dick…” he snorted at his dad’s grimace in response. 

“Jesus… okay well you know I don’t give a shit, kid. If you like boys that’s fine. But you need to be safe, use condoms and uh… fuck I don’t know what else.” 

Stiles was a terrible son, he knew it as soon as he let his lips quirk up, “Lube generally.” He got a finger in his face and a glare in response to his joke, “I don’t want to know, Use the internet. Do not get an STD.” His face flashed through another complicated cycle of painunderstandinghorrorresignation that just made Stiles tense up in anticipation for a truly awkward question. “It’s not Scott right?” 

Stiles blinked, “what’s not Scott?” 

His dad grimaced again and waved his hands “You know… the boy you like?” 

Stiles reared back in response with a squawk. “GOD NO!!! DAD, WHY?” 

“Thank god. I mean I like the kid but it’s damn near incestous at this point,” his dad muttered as he rubbed a hand over his face. “So what else?” 

Stiles cleared his throat and tried to push down the welling sense of panic that was washing over him. How the hell was he going to explain this to his dad? What was he going to say? How did he just come clean after months of lying and hiding the truth and get through all of the complexities that came with the hellish bullshit that had been the past 6 months of their lives? 

His dad sighed, “Stiles, just tell me!” 

“Werewolves are real!” he blurted. Well… that was a truly _stupid_ way to go about his goal of keeping his dad’s heart safe. Great job Stilinski. Real professional. 

His dad stared at him, frozen for a long moment before his entire body sagged and he sighed gustily, “Ah hell kid. That’s what this is?” 

Wait _what?! “Excuse me?_ You know about werewolves?! Since _when?”_

“Since I’m the Sheriff of this town and it’s my job to know. Since when do _you_ know about werewolves?” 

Stiles couldn’t believe this. The past 4 months had been truly horrific. Between Scott’s furry ass, the introduction of the Argents which had brought danger and taken his best friend away, to Derek, the bullet, the wolfsbane, Laura, the school… all of the events where Stiles had thought his life was in danger, or it actually was in danger… All of it that he had hidden and lied about. And he could have had his dad in his corner the entire time. He felt tears building in his eyes and he shifted to get more comfortable, avoiding his dad’s eyes as he took a shaky breath, “since Scott got bitten by an insane Alpha, after you found Laura Hale in the woods.” 

The admission of it was so freeing that he slumped back against his pillows and finally looked up at his Dad. It was done now, he knew it would all come out. But knowing that he hadn’t actually been protecting his dad and that he could rebuild the trust between them again was so much of a relief it felt like he’d managed to shove a boulder off of his stomach. 

“Seriously? So this whole time with you framing Derek and lacrosse and… it was werewolves?” his dad looked so tired in that moment that Stiles nodded slowly and then laid out the basic timeline. Peter, Derek, Erica, Boyd, Issac, Scott, the Argents, Kate… all of it. At the end, his dad looked exhausted as he leaned back and rubbed his hand over his face. “Well hell son, no wonder you’ve been jumpy,” he sighed. He shook his head and patted Stiles’ knee. “I don’t suppose if I ask nicely you’ll leave it all be and stop getting involved?” 

Stiles scrubbed a hand up the back of his head, only somewhat realizing that his hair was starting to grow out. “Yeah uh… no can do Daddio… I’ve got a little too much invested… and they’re my pack.” He said it quietly, but he stilled when he said it, stared up into his dad’s eyes. He was serious about it. Deadly serious. 

His dad groaned and forced himself up. “Fine, I want to meet them. All of them. Make sure they come over for dinner sometime this week. No exceptions. Does Melissa know? Nevermind I already know the answer to that. Find out what day she can come over first before you plan it,” he called as he started walking to the door. 

Stiles stared out of the open door, his mouth having dropped open as his dad demanded all of it before his Dad ducked back around the doorway, his uniform shirt already shucked and in hand, “oh and Stiles?” 

Stiles felt his gut sink and he swallowed, “Yeah pops?” 

“I get bacon, at least three times this week. _Real_ bacon. And we’re having Steak for the pack Dinner. No arguments.” 

“Dad!” This wasn’t acceptable. He couldn’t let his dad get away with four heart attack meals in a week! 

“No. Arguments. Stiles,” John threatened and Stiles glared back fiercely as the man wandered back down the hall. 

“YOU’RE EATING A SALAD TOO!” He yelled before forcing himself out of bed. He needed to go check on Erica and Boyd and Derek. He had promised himself yesterday. It wasn’t until he was downstairs, grabbing a travel mug of coffee and heading out the door that he realized that his jeep being in the garage meant that he didn’t have it available to him to go to Derek’s. He groaned and texted Peter. `hey, what garage did Roscoe go to? Is it on the way from my place to Derek’s? I’m trying to get to the Loft`

`I had it towed to Bill’s, it will take a few days before the repairs are done` Came the absolutely unhelpful reply. 

Stiles groaned and texted back a quick `thanks, Baby` before shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets and dejectedly walking to the loft. It wouldn’t take him much longer than 30 minutes, and he could get Derek to drive him home, probably… maybe. 

By the time he got to the loft his side ached tremendously and he could feel himself shaking a little as he leaned against the wall of the elevator while waiting for it to drop him off outside of the loft’s door. He knocked and waited for someone to let him in, not bothering to try and yank on the heavy rolling door with how badly he ached. 

It took a moment before the door rolled back and Erica wrapped herself around him, squeezing tightly. He swore and patted her back, “ow ow ow fragile human, very hurt,” he groaned out and then offered her a smile. He leaned on her and let her support him on the way to the couch. “You and Boyd are okay though, right?” He checked as she guided him down to the couch. 

“Yeah Batman, we’re fine. It’s you we’re worried about! You kept that asshole focused on you the whole damn time! Can you breathe? Are you in pain? You smell like you’re in pain!” 

Derek came out from the bedroom, as he was reassuring Erica that he really would live. He was eyeing them both suspiciously… or maybe that was just his face. He had a shifty expression most of the time. It was actually pretty easy to imagine him as a murderer which was _really_ mean in retrospect. He approached the couch and then leaned down to put his hand against Stiles’ neck and his veins went black as Stiles felt all of his pain drain away blissfully. He groaned happily and relaxed as the throbbing pain of his bruised ribs eased enough to take a deep breath again. “Thanks, Derek. Are you okay? Last night was peak shittiness,” he managed as Derek settled himself on the other side of the couch. 

Derek raised an eyebrow and stayed silent. Stupid reticent bastard. But Stiles refused to be deterred so he flapped his hand in his direction, “Scott was a dick and the whole thing with Murder Grandpa was really fucked up. Are you okay dude? You didn’t deserve that.” 

But before Derek could open his mouth to respond, Stiles remembered his dad’s orders and quickly interjected. “Oh by the way, I told my dad about well, everything. He demanded a pack dinner sometime this week. Probably Wednesday, that’s one of the nights Melissa usually has off. Steak and salad and other stuff I guess but definitely a salad. You’re all coming,” he ordered and met Derek’s other raised eyebrow with a little glare. 

Derek inhaled, puffing up his little wolfy chest to try and make himself look intimidating and shit but that wasn’t going to work on Stiles. He was determined that it wasn’t going to work and he was not scared of the stupid alpha and his adorable bunny teeth. Oh shit why was he glaring??? Did Stiles say that out loud? “Why are your murderbrows activated, Der… Derek?” 

Derek leaned closer and sniffed again, eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing into an impressive glower before he honest to god _growled_ in Stiles’ face. “Why do you… what did he do?!” 

“Wha?? What are you talking about, Dude?” Stiles yelped as he felt his heart start racing in his chest. Holy shit, Derek totally still had that whole murderesque vibe down, even in a damn henley instead of a leather jacket. 

“Don’t call me dude, Stiles! Why do you smell like Peter… why do you smell like…” he hesitated and motioned up and down, “ _that_ and Peter! What did he do? I’m going to kill him,” Derek snarled as he stood and Stiles somehow _levitated_ or some shit he moved so fast, stumbling over the honest to god throw rug and “ _why did Derek have a god damned throw rug like a 40 year old Martha Stewart addict?!”_

Erica’s laugh definitely clued him into that one being an out loud question. Dammit. He had completely forgotten his adderall. “Derek!? _Derek!_ Hold on dammit, murder is not the ANSWER HERE! _STOP!”_

Derek miraculously did listen sometimes because he stopped and whirled to face Stiles so fast that Stiles couldn’t quite manage the brakes and slammed into his chest and sort of… bounced back. “Jesus!” he wheezed and steadied himself against Derek’s shoulders, gripping tightly to keep himself balanced. “God damn, man. Fucking drama queen! Look, don’t murder him or whatever you were going to do, okay? Like he’s your uncle and it’s totally cool, it was very cool. I mean it was hot but you know… cool. Uh, I mean I kind of instigated the whole affair really after he managed to get me into his car and then took me to his place and like really you should be coming after me seeing like he’s only been alive for like what? 2 days? Or was it longer? Oh wait god don’t come aftermeohmygodwait...”

Derek’s murder brows were distinctly unamused and Stiles gasped in a deep breath and tried to reset himself. He was well aware that Erica was snickering on the couch behind him and he could just feel the judgement radiating out of Derek in front of him. 

God why didn’t he shower before he came over??? 

“What I mean is… it was mutual! Mutual and consentual and all of that good stuff and I was kind of in charge of it! Nothing happened that I didn’t enthusiastically consent to. Really, he was a gentleman. I mean… it’s a little weird in the daylight and stuff I guess? But like you don’t need to run off to my rescue here, Sourwolf. It was seriously good. I mean… god I didn’t mean HE was good! He _was_ good, I’m not going to deny it but I just meant like--”

“Stiles!” Derek sounded really pained at this point and Stiles obediently took a breath. Derek eyed him, that stupid eyebrow raising again and he looked down at Stiles’ hands which were still planted on Derek’s shoulders and Stiles quickly yanked them back and held them up in surrender. “Right, no touching. I’m not touching. Seriously was your entire family just jacked cause holy shit dude you really don’t need to work out.”

Derek sighed deeply and Stiles drew himself up short again because he really didn’t want to push Derek so much that he got shoved backwards into one of these totally conveniently placed columns in the loft. “I JUST MEAN… Don’t… it’s really swe… nice. Nice! That you’re concerned about me and everything but it wasn’t… isn’t something to be concerned about, okay? I’m good, you don’t need to be a protective wolf over here, Alpha. I’ve got it handled.” 

Derek startled and stared at him after doing that stupid deadly still staring thing that they were all so good at. Stiles waited for his return jab, or a growl or something but Derek just stared at him with big ol wide eyes until Stiles jutted his chin forward, trying to get a reaction. Nothing. He glanced at Erica and then back at Derek and waved his hand in Derek’s face, “Dude, what!?” 

Derek’s face went weirdly soft like he was touched or feeling some other emotion than angry and it was honestly a little concerning. “You called me Alpha.” 

Stiles stilled too and he blinked at the other man, sensing the shift in the emotions of the room but not really being able to figure them out, “Uh… yeah? I mean you are my Alpha even if you don’t like the idea of me in the pack. I’m like a fungus dude. You’re not getting rid of me that easily… isn’t that what I’m supposed to call you?” 

Derek’s face smoothed a little and Stiles tilted his head as if that would clue him into what he was missing, “Dude what? Seriously. You’re freaking me out, am I not supposed to call you Alpha?” 

Derek’s lips quirked up again and _holy shit Derek was smiling_. “No, I mean yes. You’re supposed to call me, Alpha… I didn’t know you considered yourself pack.” 

Stiles blinked as Derek stepped closer and he lifted his chin a little to stare into Derek’s green eyes as the room just seemed to get quieter around them. “Uh yeah dude, you think I want to get almost murdered for your fuzzy ass just for funsies?” 

Derek rolled his eyes but smiled a little wider and he reached back to cup Stiles’ neck and stared into his eyes and Stiles felt tears threaten to well again in response to how solemn this had just gotten. “Welcome to the pack, Stiles.” Derek said, his hand a firm weight and grip on Stiles’ neck and something snapped in Stiles’ chest, warm and bright and strong. 

Stiles stared up at Derek, stammering wordlessly as his hand fluttered up to grip his own chest where the warmth just expanded and filled his entire body. Stiles could _feel_ Derek in his chest and it was so warm and so comforting that he impulsively threw himself forward and gripped the Alpha in a tight bear hug. He didn’t hold back, squeezing for all he was worth. It was definitely in the running for best Stilinski Bear Hug he’d ever given. “Dinner. Wednesday. It’s not negotiable, _Alpha_.” he said, emphasizing the title. 

Derek slowly brought his arm up and gathered Stiles close, hugging him back firmly and the warmth in Stiles’ chest pulsed and brightened and it was like a god damned sun. Stiles waited until Derek’s arms loosened before he allowed himself to release the other man. He pulled back and grinned widely in response to Derek’s startled face. “Bring the cubs,” he ordered before saluting Erica and leaving. He wanted to get the hell out of there before Derek remembered that Stiles was annoying. 

On his way back down the ridiculously slow elevator he tugged his cell phone out and texted Peter, `Pack dinner at my place on Wed at 6. Mandatory. I expect to see you there, Baby.` He bit his lip but grinned in response to the text after he sent it. He knew he was pushing with the pet name. Peter always went still when he used it. But until the man demanded he stop, he was going to keep milking it. 

A moment later he got a response, `Do I have to wait until Wednesday to see you again, Darling?`

Stiles stepped out into the sunlight outside of Derek’s building and bit his lip as he stared at his phone. `Absolutely not. Tonight?`

`I’ll leave the door unlocked.`

Stiles grinned as he looked up from his phone. This was going to be fun. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first Teen Wolf fanfiction and it would mean the world to hear your thoughts! Please consider dropping a note, especially if you would like to see more! My Teen Wolf Bingo card is on my tumblr and I'm always accepting prompts and fic requests!


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